It's Quiet Uptown
by dragonwings948
Summary: As the Doctor tries to remember Clara, he finds himself going to a familiar street. Then, the inevitable happens. Doctor and Clara POV, mainly introspection and feels.
1. The Doctor: The Lonely Street

**A/N: I'm alive! This semester is kicking my butt, so I'm not able to write very often, but I have a few things coming your way. There are also a couple (or more?) things I wrote over the summer that I haven't posted yet, so stay tuned.**

 **Anyway, I'm sorry about this. Really, really sorry.** ** _Warning: this is completely made up of feels and there is no happiness anywhere._** **I just keep imagining the Doctor going places he remembered being with Clara so he can try and remember her, and then It's Quiet Uptown came to mind and just... Yeah. This is the result.**

 **Context: The place the Doctor goes in this fic is the place where Clara and the Doctor lie to each other and go their separate ways in Death in Heaven. Happy times.**

 **(Random side fact: I wrote this during my Music History class today because during the 70 minute class period we literally just sat there and listened to a mass the whole time.)**

 _If you see him in the street, walking by_

 _Himself, talking to himself, have pity..._

 _He is working through the unimaginable_

-It's Quiet Uptown by Lin-Manuel Miranda

* * *

His memories drove him to a familiar street.

As he stepped out of the TARDIS, he felt icy droplets of rain pelt his unprotected hands and face. In the next step that he took, his foot splashed in a puddle.

He could feel people's eyes trained on him. The streets and the sidewalks were crowded, throngs of people passing by, but a few must have seen the TARDIS materialize and were gawking at the blue box. He was getting careless.

He didn't care.

His eyes roamed over the concrete sidewalk and the bland buildings, the rain tainting them both dark shades of black or grey. A heavy weight of sadness sat in his gut. What exactly had happened with Clara here? He couldn't quite remember anymore. Something sad. Something lonely.

He pulled the TARDIS' door closed, ignoring the spectators, and merged into the crowd. He kept his head down, eyes trained on the ground.

It felt wrong to walk here alone. He imagined someone by his side, asking him endless dull questions. That would be preferable to this.

Instead he had only the solitude of his own mind. Even that was unusually quiet. The song was running through his head again. _Her_ song. Somewhere, memories begged to be remembered.

But for the most part, the time lord's mind was quiet.

He looked up, hoping for any kind of distraction, anything to occupy his mind. A young woman going the opposite direction locked eyes with him, just for a moment. Her eyes exuded compassion. Pity.

How long had he been this pitiful, this desperate? How long had he been searching for something that was far beyond his reach?

Was this what Clara would have wanted?

"No," he muttered to himself. He knew enough about her to know that much. But what was he supposed to do? Just let it go, let _her_ go?

His hand clenched into a fist at his side. He could almost remember how her hand fit perfectly in his. He could almost remember how he held on to her as they ran. _Almost._

He sighed. After all his searching, all his wandering, that was all he ever got. _Almost._

It wasn't enough.

He could never let her go.


	2. Clara: The Inevitable

_She takes his hand_

 _"It's quiet uptown."_

 _Forgiveness. Can you imagine?_

 _Forgiveness. Can you imagine?_

 _If you see him in the street, walking by her_

 _Side, talking by her side, have pity_

 _They are going through the unimaginable_

-It's Quiet Uptown by Lin-Manuel Miranda

* * *

It was inevitable.

Clara had known that from the beginning, of course, but she had tried to hide the fact deep in the back of her mind where only a shadow of the thought would cross her consciousness every once and a while.

Almost unknowingly, she had worked up an immunity to her past. She had guarded herself so carefully against thoughts and memories that she could think about them now with almost no emotion. They seemed like a dream, something that had happened in another life.

She never once reminded herself that it had been _real._ She never once remembered the feeling of security as she held his hand. She never once thought of the adrenaline pumping through her veins as they ran.

So if the inevitable moment were ever to come, she would be ready. She just knew it.

That is, until it happened, and then she knew only one thing:

Nothing could have prepared her for this.

It was like a stab in her gut, like somebody kicking her in the chest, like the breath being knocked out of her. She had never thought that the sight of somebody could be so _painful._

Even more painful was the choice she had to make. The option she _had_ to choose.

 _Turn. Turn and run,_ she directed herself, and yet her feet didn't obey her commands.

"No." She clenched her hands into fists, her fingernails biting into her skin. Her eyes stung like she was going to cry, but she knew from experience that the tears would never come in her body's frozen state.

"I _can't,"_ she told herself, voice trembling. Yet she took a step in his direction. He was standing across the road. _Standing._ When was he ever standing still? Of course it had to be now.

It was inevitable.

Her control slipped. She took another step. She pressed her lips together, the name she had been dying to call out resting right on the tip of her tongue.

Then his eyes met hers. His gaze almost swept past, but then his piercing eyes locked onto her. He froze.

He _smiled._

And she knew.

There wasn't time to ask questions, to try to maintain control. Clara ran to him, her tearless sobs forcing her body to shake. As she grew closer, she saw that his eyes were glassy. His arms were open. Somehow, impossibly, he _knew._

She crashed into him, relishing the feel of his warm embrace. He sighed, the breath ruffling her hair.

"How long?" he rumbled.

That voice, that _voice._

It all came rushing back to her in a flood of memories, so very real. _How long._ Her mind, always on the same frequency as his, knew exactly what he meant.

"A hundred and one years," she responded between sobs. She told herself she hadn't been counting, but she had been. It had been inevitable.

His arms constricted around her. "Clara."

She swallowed hard, trying to calm her breathing. That was the thing she had missed the most: the way he said her name.

It was there, ready to burst forth from her lips. She hadn't dared to speak or even think the name, really, in so long. In a hundred and one years. "D—" A sob interrupted and she tried again. "Doctor."

He gently pushed her away, his expression etched in sadness. "Clara." He took a deliberate swallow. "I'm sorry."

She could read the rest of it in his eyes, the things he couldn't say. _I took your life into my hands. I went too far. This is all my fault._

He was right, this was his fault. But a long time ago, on the blackest day of her life, when she had entirely betrayed his trust, he had looked at her and said with complete conviction, _Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?_

Clara smiled. She reached for one of his hands, hanging limp by his side, and held it in both of hers. She looked straight into his eyes.

"I know. I've always known."

His eyes softened. "I never deserved you, Clara Oswald."

Clara sighed, and it was a release. The inevitable had happened. And though it couldn't last and they would be forced to go their separate ways, they still had this moment, right now.

Clara nodded down the street. "Have time to take a walk?"

He nodded, his hand still in hers.

And they talked, occasionally finding one of their hands in the other's grasp as they strolled through the town. They both knew the next inevitable moment was coming, but for now, it didn't matter.

They had each other. And suddenly, it wasn't so quiet anymore.


End file.
